


who knew i liked the taste of gunpowder on you

by mydogfoundthechainsaw



Category: Fast and the Furious Series, Hobbs & Shaw (2019)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:47:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23320441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydogfoundthechainsaw/pseuds/mydogfoundthechainsaw
Summary: Hobbs spends a day in London with Deckard after it all ends. Somehow, a tour of London and Chinese food get them somewhere further than friends.
Relationships: Luke Hobbs/Deckard Shaw
Comments: 4
Kudos: 175





	who knew i liked the taste of gunpowder on you

When Hattie kissed the insufferable Yankee brickhouse, Shaw felt the icy warm tendrils of something like jealousy bite into his gut. Not that he’d ever admit to it. 

On the way back from Samoa, on a nicer flight this time, still courtesy of Dinkley, his sister cornered him. “Apologies for trying to steal your man, but keep waiting and he’ll be on the market.”

He didn’t spit out his whiskey, but he did almost choke. “Fuck you. I wouldn’t be into that bastard if he was the last man on earth.”

Hattie sighed. “You’ve gotten stupider over the years, Deck. Maybe he’s rubbing off on you,” she paused, smirking, “Sadly, not with you.”

With that, she got up and resumed reading her book, so when Hobbs reemerged, he was none the wiser.

When they landed, Hattie excused herself for her apartment. Normal, he thought, until a bag clipped his head. “Pay attention princess. Won’t always have me watching your back.”

If he wasn’t glad to finally have her back, he’d tell Hobbs to fuck off and stay with Hattie. But he was, even if she’d clearly and deliberately betrayed him like this. “You can stay at my place for the night. I reckon the couch can hold your weight.”

“Long as it's not made for your kind, hobbit.” But Hobbs smacked him on the shoulder and started following.

They walked in silence off the tarmac to a taxi, and when they sat down, buried the urge to just lay his head on Hobbes shoulder struck him. God. He’d seen the man in his war costume. There’d been too many other things to focus on at the time, but all that now? Fuck. Having the man in his house was gonna make the urge to pathetically strike one out in the shower too strong. 

“Hey twinkle toes. You having a stroke over there?”

That snapped him out of it. He stared out the window the rest of the time instead. It was safer. He needed to get back to the basics — insult him, outsmart him, punch him. Not think about how fighting him could go wonderfully sideways. 

His apartment was blissfully as he’d left it. God, the couch looked so comfortable. But then Hobbs dropped his body on it, and the couch creaked in protest. “The fuck you think you’re doing. No couch privileges till you’ve cleaned up.”

“Letting you first. It’s your house.” Hobbs said, lounging back.

The couch didn’t fit him. Hobbs wasn’t made to fit most things. And fuck, Deck. That wasn’t the train of thought he needed to go down right now.

He tried not to run to the shower. Took it colder than normal and a bit longer. It made him focus on the mission and not his dick. Didn’t totally work — when he got out, he spent what felt like ages deciding what to wear, only to end up with gray joggers and a black shirt. Original.

Hobbs was talking to his daughter when he came out, all wide smiles and that caring tone of voice. “Hey Mr. Shaw. Can you get my dad to the palace for me?”

“She wants to visit,” Hobbs said, by way of explanation, because he’d never seen her that happy to see him. 

“Of course. I’ll have him back in your hands before you know it too, love.” 

Sam was the great equalizer between them. Hobbes laughed. “I’ve been keeping him and his sister safe this whole time, Sam.” he said, in a stage whisper. “But he’s been hit in the head one too many times.”

Oi!” Deckard protested, but Sam’s laugh was worth it. “Don’t listen to your dad. Probably hasn’t had enough protein today.”

That earned him a glare from Hobbs, and Sam just started giving a series of weird eyebrow raises. “I think your daughter is having a stroke from staring at your ugly mug.”

“You saw my brother and you’re still gonna say that?”

“I’d say it runs in the family, but your daughter and mum seem perfect. Must skip the women.”

Sam interrupted her eyebrow exercises to laugh. Must’ve been an inside joke —- Hobbs was glaring. “Look, I’ve gotta go baby girl. Redcoat here needs some of the couch.”

“Bye. See you later!”

He replied in kind, before he could realize that was a weird thing to say. Hobbs hung up, then looked up at him expectantly. He nodded over to the bathroom and sunk into the couch. He let himself enjoy it for a minute, but knew food was the next thing, and the apartment had nothing good. God invented takeout apps for a reason. 

“Chinese alright with you, Hobbs.” He didn’t expect a response, but at least now he had a reason when Hobbs bitched. 

“I’ll take some chicken fried rice, general tso’s, and broccoli and beef.”

He turned, and there was Hobbs, slightly dripping and towel falling off his waist. The other man’s mouth was still moving. Fuck. How long had he just been sitting there. It wasn’t like he’d never seen the other man shirtless anyways. Jesus, Deck. 

“You get all that?’

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, turning so Hobbs wouldn’t see the flush he could feel creeping up his cheeks. “You better be paying if you’re ordering that many dishes.”

Hobbs disappeared, but returned with a credit card. Which he saw necessary to pass by hand and hover over him as he put the information in. His phone was super intriguing. Of course it was, Deckard. Get it together. “Find something in my closet,” he hollered after him. Dressing the man, or spending even a modicum of more time with him like that, would kill him.

The next time Hobbs came out, he’d found one of the tank tops he kept for emergencies and a pair of too tight basketball shorts an ex had left. Hell. Luckily he’d pulled up a Korean drama, and his Korean wasn’t perfect enough to ignore the subtitles. 

“Surprised you aren’t watching that stupid monarchy show.”

“Oh you want me to put on the bodybuilding championship, eh?”

Hobbs shook his head as he made a spot for himself on the couch. “Been meaning to see this, anyways. One of Han’s favorite directors.”

Again, a quiet silence descended. Until he made the mistake of making a sly comment, something he’d do with Hattie or one of his few friends. And it made Hobbs smile, which he quickly covered by shoving Deck.

Later, when there was an explosion of some sort, Hobbs nudged him. “Make you feel at home, pyro?”

He shoved Hobbs back, and the thing turned into a wrestling match. Hobbs had the upper hand; he really didn’t want to go furniture shopping again. Then they tumbled over the back of the couch — had Hobbs intentionationally done that ? — and he scrambled to get on top. Unspoken, they’d only grappled, switching top and bottom frequently. Somehow, he ended up on his back, legs wrapped around Hobbs’ waist, Hobb’s hands trying to pin down his hips to escape. It wasn’t a relaxing position. But it had control, so he could breathe. Take in the situation. Take in something hard pressing in his ass, and glance up at Hobbs, whose hands were way too close to his. 

He used the silence and pause — Hobbs had gone wide eyes and paled — to sweep Hobbs, pin him down. Heard Hobbs take an audible breath, and fractionally and barely grind into Deckard. He knew Hobbs could lift him up, get free somehow if he wanted to, but instead was laying there. Hand gripping Deck’s waist, pupils blown but focused on him. Deck didn’t know what to do next. Kiss him? Fish his dick out and do more? Grind like they were teenagers?

Luckily for him, the door rang, and they started.

“Your bloody order took forever,” he commented, like he was annoyed about it, as he got up.

Answering the door wasn’t the safest idea for either of them, but Hobbs bit the bullet. Probably too intimidating to be noticed. Hobbs partitioned the food too. He took the most of it; Deckard, like a normal human, had only gotten one dish and a side of egg rolls. But suddenly Hobbs’ broccoli and beef looked more appetising than his chicken. 

Hobbs probably noticed him staring — although that meant he was staring back — because he added, “We can split everything. Expected you to be a thief.”

Their meal was quiet, and relatively peaceful. Which was not what Deckard needed right now. His dick was still alive with interest, and he could tell wasn’t not interested either. But he wasn’t going to say anything. He was hungry. Hobbs managed to eat most of the food he ordered, but let Deckard try everything. The broccoli and beef was better, unfortunately. When they were both done, Hobbs put the trash away and said, “Finish the movie?”

Was Hobbs aware of Netflix and chill? The man was definitely on the edge of a fuckboy, but didn’t feel like he’d keep up with the current trends.

It turned out he probably wasn’t — he sat too far away from Deck as possible. Which was fine. Better not to fuck everything up with some sex, no matter how much Deck wanted to trace his tattoos with his tougnue.

Hobbs fell asleep near the end of the movie. Out so cold he didn’t even move when Deckard threw a blanket over him and prompted his head up with a pillow. In his defense, the man was a giant baby and would definitely need it. 

The next morning, his house smelled like apples. Good, but certainly not a normal occurrence. He stumbled out of his room to Hobbs’, shirtless, over his stovetop. “Wondered how much beauty sleep you needed, princess. Got myself a workout in the meantime.”

Partially explained the whole situation. But he was hungry so he grabbed some pancakes and apples. They looked, surprisingly, edible. “Nothing could save you, don’t be jealous.”

As they ate, Hobbs told him the flight wasn’t until the evening. The stupid part of Deckard offered to take him around London. Mostly, he rationalized, so he could make sure the other man didn’t start some sort of international incident. For the millionth time. 

He wasn’t a good tour guide. But Hobbs wasn’t a good tourist. They bickered as he tried to dredge random London facts from his memory, and Hobbs still had on borrowed clothes — better than the shorts of yesterday, but still ridiculous. Hobbs also had to stop in front of anything exciting to take selfies for his daughter. Which always seemed to take forever.

It was painful. And tood damn close to the wrong side of endearing. He didn’t like soft; it was better when they bickered. But as he watched Hobbs fail to get the entirety of Tower Bridge and his head in one shot — Jesus did the man know how cameras operated — a woman coughed by his shoulder.

“Think he’d actually get it if you went over and helped him, hon.”

He looked at the older woman and shrugged. “Eh. Never listens to me anyways.”

That made her laugh. “Trust me, they never get any better,” she said, motioning to an older man behind her struggling with the same shot. “You want me to take a picture of you two? You’ll be here all day if he keeps that up.”

Deckard froze, but his years-honed blend-in instincts kicked in, and he nodded. “Hobbs hand the phone over. She’s gonna get a picture of us.”

Hobbs came out quickly, passing the phone over, and slung his arm tightly around Deckard; the other man smelled like his aftershave and fundamentally Hobbs, and Deckard wished he was a different man. Stronger, in one way or another. The lady took one decent picture of them like that, where someone could feasibly look at them and think, what good friends. Then he decided what kind of strength he needed and pulled Hobbs down for a kiss on the cheek. The photographer crooned; shockingly, Hobbs let him.

When Hobbs went to get his phone back, Deckard briefly thought about jumping into the Thames. Definitely not a great way to go. But last night could’ve been passed off as adrenaline, the fucked up fight-flight-fuck memory. Today wasn’t. As he stared at it, he heard Hobbs approaching. “She thinks we're cute, by the way. Especially when she saw that I have a daughter.”

He felt Hobbs hand slide into his back pocket, the other man a steady presence preventing him from fleeing. He couldn’t think of anything immediately witty to say, so instead, what came out was, “She must’ve been staring just at my face then. Let’s go, there’s more of London.”

Hobbs hummed and pinched his ass before Deckard could get away from him. “Where next?”

That situation didn’t happen again, thankfully. Yet it did. Hobbs dragged him in for selfies now, face pressed too close because that was the only way to get everything in, and he let the moment happen. 

Hobbs eventually decided he was starving again, and they found themselves in the back of a pub Deckard loved. They’d just started to dig into their food, beers half-drunk, when Hobbs decided to stop their frankly decent conversation on football.

“You spent much time in California, pretty boy?”

He had, courtesy of an ex ages ago. But he found himself saying, “You offering?”

Hobbs shrugged, looked at his beer with a bit more intensity than it deserved. “I’ve got the space. But Sam’s got some stuff for the next month.”

“I wasn’t about to hop on a plane after you, anyways.”

“Aww, you know you’ll miss me, princess.”

He wasn't wrong. But he shook his head and directed the conversation back to football. 

They continued their tour after, until it was close to his flight. Too close, honestly. Deckard had to shove Hobbs on the back of his motorcycle, taking turns too sharp and trying not to enjoy the other man wrapped into him — which was definitely unnecessary. 

When they got to the airport, Hobbs slid off the bike and asked, “Think you could give me a ride another time?”

Deckard started to ask why — he knew Hobbs had a bike — and then looked at the smirk on Hobbs’ face. Sod it. The distance between them wasn’t much, and suddenly he was there, looking up at the other man, pulling him down by the collar, lips on his lips. Hobbs sunk into it, pulling the other man closer to him. 

Hobbs’ vibrating phone jolted them both out of it, and he pulled back slowly. “I’m going to take that as a yes,” Hobbs said, after he’d checked the message. “And I’ve got a nice king sized bed in California when you get there, because I’m not an asshole who makes guests sleep on my couch.”

“Fuck you,” he said, and couldn’t resist one last kiss before the man headed out. 

Before he got on the bike again, he texted Hattie.  _ He might be mine now. _


End file.
